


The Old Ways

by schemingreader



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-21
Updated: 2008-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:51:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schemingreader/pseuds/schemingreader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny Weasley knows that Harry Potter is up to something. She's the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and knows some magic Hogwarts doesn't teach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old Ways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrtkpr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrtkpr/gifts).



 

Hermione grabbed her arm and shepherded her into a corner of the common room. "Why are you acting like that?" she said in a low voice. "Are you possessed again?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "No, Hermione, bloody hell. But thank heaven for _you_ and your eternal vigilance!"

Hermione looked at her. "See, that's what I mean. You've gone all bitchy and sarcastic. Why have you changed your personality?"

"I haven't!"

Hermione was not persuaded. "You've been acting like Draco Malfoy," she said.

"Oh, yeah, that is rather bitchy," Ginny said.

"is this some kind of weird, reverse-psychology strategy to get Harry interested in you again? It's not enough that you have Dean Thomas on a string?"

"No," Ginny said.

"Yes," Hermione said.

"Well, you told me..."

"I said to develop yourself as a separate person!" Hermione looked urgent and earnest and Hermione-like at her. "Maybe you should play another sport, or..."

"Shut _up_ , Hermione, I was playing Quidditch before Harry Potter even knew what it was! Certainly before _you_ did." Hermione looked hurt for a split second before she got her scientific assessment look on, and Ginny held up a hand. "That's enough, thank you, Ms. Granger," she said in her best McGonagall voice.

Hermione hated that. She hero-worshiped Minerva McGonagall. She stalked away, leaving Ginny sniggering to herself.

It was like being possessed, a little, being this jealous. Harry Potter was obsessed with Draco Malfoy, and everyone knew it--except Harry and Malfoy. Ginny was not obsessed with Harry Potter, exactly, but she knew she would marry him. She just knew it.

In the main hall at breakfast, Harry had eyes only for Malfoy, who turned to glare back at intervals. It didn't matter than Ginny had shining, nearly waist-length red hair, that she was the best Quidditch player in the school, or that she actually loved Harry, though he wasn't supposed to know that yet. It didn't matter that he was practically part of her family and Malfoy was a toffee-nosed, pseudo-patrician prat.

All Harry could think about was what Malfoy might be doing. He stalked the other boy and thought no one noticed. Poor Harry. "I'm a _witch_ ," she thought, "I know where my man is at every moment. That's why my mother taught me to scry." This was one thing that the horrible old racists who called her family blood traitors had right, only pure-bloods who had been raised in proper wizarding families knew the old ways.

All this nonsense with the clock her father bought her mother to keep track of the children. Her mother knew when they were in trouble when she wanted to know.

Ginny took an apple from the bowl on their breakfast table and with her silver knife removed the peel in a single strand. She cut the apple into seven pieces and put them on Harry's plate, one at a time, where he absently ate them, spitting out the pips as he went. She summoned the apple seeds from his plate and put the seeds and the peel in her pocket.

No one noticed her, except Hermione, who radiated disapproval. "You wait on him hand and foot," she said on their way out of breakfast. "How is that becoming your own person?"

Ginny managed not to smile. She looked down, as though she felt ashamed.

They both should have been in Quidditch practice when she sat on her bed behind the curtains in her dorm in Gryffindor and cast the peel and seeds into silver bowl half filled with water. The scent of apples, the best smell in the world, rose from the bowl. Harry always came to them when the apples were little and new.

She leaned her head over the bowl, and _Saw_ where he was. Her mother said she had the Sight and it was true--it wasn't like merely looking. Harry was standing in an upstairs corridor watching Draco Malfoy, and she saw him, and she saw what he saw. The sharp bones of Draco's clavicle in the hollow of his throat, framed by his white shirt collar, moving as he moved. Then the two boys looked at each other, and Draco's face--relaxed, or went blank, something. Harry's eyes looked worried. They didn't speak.

She was watching Harry grasp Draco's narrow shoulders to hold him, and though Draco was taller, Harry was bending his dark head to Draco's neck, to lick his pale throat.

In the silver bowl, she could see them, and blood pounded in her head. It was erotic, and she was aroused, and it was infuriating, humiliating, nauseating. She was dizzy with desire and anger. Boys could be so beautiful. They bit and licked each other's faces, like animals, and it wasn't like kissing, not any kissing she'd ever seen.

She wanted to be there, to be them, to be with them. She wanted her mouth on Harry's cock, she wanted Malfoy's mouth on her cock, she wanted to be the one sinking to the floor with Harry Potter. She touched herself with shaking hands. Malfoy's lashes were so pale against his cheek, his cheek that was hollowed from sucking Harry's cock so hard.

Harry stopped him, panting, and pulled him up to kiss his mouth. Harry's cock glistened, still hard and red. Harry was fumbling with Malfoys's flies.

"I'll do it," Malfoy said, and his voice was low, not scornful. They should have looked silly with their trousers just pushed down around their knees, Malfoy's white arse flexing over Harry's body. They were just humping each other, full length on the floor, and then Harry had both of their cocks in his hand and they slid together. It should have looked silly, but she couldn't stand it, hearing the small and desperate sounds they made in her head. Her own hand moved under her skirt, her finger rubbing the nub of her clit, though she was imagining something else.

Ginny came first and the water in the bowl shook and then Harry came and Malfoy's finger was in his arse and Ginny could feel it and Malfoy's _cock_ , my God, he was coming on Harry's stomach, hot, sticky, and Ginny came, imagining them both fucking her, imagining Harry fucking her, imagining Malfoy's cock hot up her arse. She trembled and it felt like she must have come more than once.

Then she came down, sick with jealousy, sick to her stomach, sick because he was doing this with Malfoy and it turned her on. She felt hollow and shaky.

They were still panting. Malfoy leaned down and Harry pulled him close with one arm and they kissed. Harry's eyes shut--trust and pleasure--and she turned away from the bowl.

Her bed was wet where the water had spilled, and her fingers must reek. He wanted Malfoy.

She looked back into the bowl to see Malfoy raise his wand to Harry's head.

"No!" she said out loud, but Harry's face went weirdly slack. She saw, in that moment, that Harry's face, even in repose, was animated by intelligence, because it was gone. Malfoy rose, arranged his clothing, and then turned back and kissed Harry's face.

In a moment he had disappeared down the corridor.

Harry's eyes opened and he shook himself, looking confused. Oh--she could see that he had--oh, he got up and went back to looking for Malfoy in the same desperate way.

She unfolded her legs and stood up and stretched. She had to put a stop to this, but Harry couldn't know what she had done.

She saved the seeds in her skirt pocket, and drew the red peel, dripping, from the bowl. She cast the peel on the ground, to see if maybe there was one more vision in it. It fell on the white tile of the dorm floor, a bloody spiral, like a ribbon wound round Malfoy's neck, like a red snake.

Perhaps this was a vision, but maybe it was only wishful thinking.

  



End file.
